In the middle of the day we baited our horses at a little inn,
called the Weatherboard. The country here is elevated 2800 feet
above the sea. About a mile and a half from this place there is a
view exceedingly well worth visiting. Following down a little
valley and its tiny rill of water, an immense gulf unexpectedly
opens through the trees which border the pathway, at the depth of
perhaps 1500 feet. Walking on a few yards, one stands on the brink
of a vast precipice, and below one sees a grand bay or gulf, for I
know not what other name to give it, thickly covered with forest.
The point of view is situated as if at the head of a bay, the line
of cliff diverging on each side, and showing headland behind
headland, as on a bold sea-coast. These cliffs are composed of
horizontal strata of whitish sandstone; and are so absolutely
vertical, that in many places a person standing on the edge and
throwing down a stone, can see it strike the trees in the abyss
below. So unbroken is the line of cliff that in order to reach the
foot of the waterfall formed by this little stream, it is said to
be necessary to go sixteen miles round. About five miles distant in
front another line of cliff extends, which thus appears completely
to encircle the valley; and hence the name of bay is justified, as
applied to this grand amphitheatrical depression.
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